


Bon Odori

by alestar



Category: Eerie Queerie!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-20
Updated: 2006-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alestar/pseuds/alestar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Whenever Mitsuo asked about Hasunuma's life, Hasunuma acted like there was nothing to tell-- a long void of nothing. Reading books, watching movies, kissing a few girls but nothing serious, kissing a few boys but nothing serious, and waiting. But waiting for what?</i></p><p>Originally written for Yuletide 2005 and then massively freaking overhauled; the original is <a href="http://www.yuletidetreasure.org/archive/18/bon.html">here</a>, if you'd like to read a shorter, alternate-ending version that includes NC-17 sex.  Uh, if you do read both versions but prefer the earlier one, you should let me know.  Thank you to TFV for beta!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bon Odori

A round mirror hung on the South wall of the apartment, and on the shelf in front of it were two candles and an omamori embroidered with a prayer against ghosts. The candle flames flickered toward one another, then away; either stretched longer than the other then dwindled to its blue core, bobbing and twisting, wriggling against its mirror counterpart.

Mitsuo hadn't glanced down at his textbook for thirty minutes.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump.

"What are you thinking about?" Hasunuma whispered. Mitsuo looked guiltily over his shoulder. Hasunuma was leaned over the back of the chair, shirt unbuttoned, smiling tiredly.

"Not statistics," Mitsuo confessed.

Hasunuma brushed a strand of hair out of Mitsuo's face and said, "You should get some sleep. You have class in the morning." Mitsuo nodded and pushed himself out of the chair.

Hasunuma flipped off the bathroom and hallway lights as they walked by on their way to the bedroom. They changed into sweatpants and got into bed. Mitsuo leaned over Hasunuma to set the bedside alarm for eight o'clock and then fell back against his pillow, exhausted; Hasunuma kissed the back of his neck once, and, within minutes, they were both fast sleep.

The headboard was decorated with Shinto prayers. There were juzu charm beads on the bedknobs.

*

At the end of the lecture on Childhood Development, Aiko closed her notebook. She leaned over and whispered into Mitsuo's ear, "Please, please shoot me."

Mitsuo smothered his grin behind his fist. "It'll be fine," he whispered back.

The professor dismissed the class, and there was a clamor of notebooks slapping shut, bookbags zipping open and closed, chairs scraping the floor. At normal volume, Mitsuo added, "We have two weeks until the test. You'll be fine."

Aiko shook her head. "Whatever. You have a knack for this stuff, names and dates and stuff. I'm screwed."

Mitsuo laughed. "You are not screwed."

"I am super screwed." Aiko swung her bag onto her shoulder with a grimace of disgust. "But fuck it. Is your boyfriend working today?"

Mitsuo nodded.

Aiko wound an arm around Mitsuo's and tugged. "Good. Let's go have some pork ramen while I'm still alive to enjoy it."

Mitsuo had met Aiko at the beginning of last semester, in Theories of Urban Development. They were both studying in social work, and so they took most of the same classes; they'd made a habit of walking together after school, often to the ramen shop where Hasunuma worked. As they walked, Mitsuo explained the history of theories of cognitive function. Aiko bemoaned her fate, gesturing broadly with her free hand, fingers splayed, face twisted, and Mitsuo laughed.

In front of them, behind them and on either side, ghosts floated down the street like rags in water.

The spirits kept their distance. Hasunuma had become a skilled onmyoji over the years, and his charms were powerful enough to keep back at least eight meters even the very strong dead. Mitsuo wore Hasunuma's paper ofuda all over his body-- they lined the insides of sweatbands at his wrists and ankles, a choker at his neck, and a girdle at his waist.

Most of the spirits floated parallel to Mitsuo and Aiko on the other side of the street, some ignored them altogether, some called to Mitsuo from across the expanse. Those that did call to Mitsuo he had long since learned to ignore.

As soon as Aiko and Mitsuo pushed through the doors of the ramen shop, ghosts on the periphery vanished. Hasunuma had charmed the small restaurant almost as well as he'd charmed their apartment, which was nearly as well-charmed as the Kasuga Shrine at the far end of Nara Park, with its bronze and stone lanterns and red paint. Bells jingled and the owner looked up; he nodded at Mitsuo and called to Hasunuma, who came out from the back, holding a bowl of noodles.

Aiko waved. Hasunuma grinned and took the bowl to a far booth and listened politely while the businessmen there chatted with him. He glanced over at Mitsuo briefly, then back down to laugh at a patron's joke. Mitsuo got the feeling sometimes that the shop owner wasn't exactly comfortable with Hasunuma, and certainly not when Mitsuo was around, but that he kept him on board because he was such a hit with the customers.

On Mitsuo's off days, when he had nothing to do but hang out in a secluded booth for Hasunuma's entire shift, eating ramen and doing homework, he watched customers order bowl after bowl of noodles and flirt with their handsome server-- a young man with large eyes, long throat, tall and well built, long black hair pulled back-- who was recognizable to anybody as extraordinary.

From Mitsuo's angle in the corner of the restaurant, however, Hasunuma's eyes looked smaller than normal. Drawn, and the rest of his face looked paler. Mitsuo frowned.

"What's wrong?" asked Aiko. She followed his gaze over her shoulder, then looked back at Mitsuo, smirking. "Jealous?"

"No..." said Mitsuo, then he glanced at her grinning face.

It was still weird for him to be treated by other people as Hasunuma's boyfriend. He'd gotten so used to fervently denying that he and Hasunuma were lovers before it was true that it had been hard for him to break the habit. Mitsuo had gotten over it, mostly, slowly, but he was still easily spooked by public declarations or displays of affection. Hasunuma, meanwhile, though always willing to indulge Mitsuo in his discretions, had never been interested in hiding anything-- neither the ghosts nor the gayness. It was almost as though Hasunuma enjoyed being ostracized.

"No," Mitsuo added, and by then Hasunuma was making his way over to their booth.

"Hey, guys," he said, reaching out a hand to touch Mitsuo's shoulder. This close, Mitsuo could see that his face was pinched with strain. "What can we get for you today?"

"Come here," said Mitsuo, still frowning, and held out a hand. Hasunuma raised an eyebrow, but he leaned over and let Mitsuo touch his face. With a quick look over his shoulder, the shop owner retreated to the kitchen.

"You're sick," Mitsuo said reproachfully.

Hasunuma smiled and pulled back from Mitsuo's hand. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, you need to be in bed." Mitsuo let his hand slip from Hasunuma's damp forehead, but he caught Hasunuma's sleeve. "Tell your boss you're sick and you need to go home."

Hasunuma shook his head. "I'm picking up Kaoru's shift. I just have three more hours and then I'll be home."

Mitsuo scowled. "You're not going to make it three more hours."

"I'm fine," Hasunuma repeated, smile dimming. "I just--" The owner called Hasunuma's name from the kitchen. "I have to go," he said.

"Can I have an order of bean paste ramen?" Aiko asked quickly.

Hasunuma looked over at her and his smile brightened. "Of course," he said. He winked, then walked away. Aiko propped her chin on her fist.

"I can't get over how pretty he is," she said. "What a wonderful bone structure."

Mitsuo's mouth twisted. "I can't get over how stubborn he is."

A few minutes later, Hasunuma brought Aiko's noodles out and a cup of tea for Mitsuo; and when further scowling had no effect, Mitsuo sighed and ordered a bowl of udon. After they'd both eaten, and after Mitsuo had failed several times to talk Hasunuma into cutting out early, Aiko left, wincing as she mentioned the stacks and stacks of homework that were waiting for her.

Hasunuma wandered over twenty minutes later. "Where did Aiko go?" he asked. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"She went home, she had a lot of homework."

"You don't have any homework?"

Mitsuo raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to wait here until you get off work and make sure you don't pass out."

A brief look of exasperation flickered over Hasunuma's face. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the owner was in the back, and then he dropped into the booth. "You don't need to wait for me, Mitsuo. It's only two more hours."

"I can wait two hours."

Hasunuma frowned. He took a huffy breath and wiped his forehead again. "There's no reason for you to wait. You don't need--"

"You want me to have to walk home alone?" Mitsuo interrupted.

Hasunuma paused. He lowered his hand to the tabletop. "--No, not if you don't want to." He reached over to touch Mitsuo's arm.

"Alright." Mitsuo nodded. "I'll wait here."

*

They took the bus back to the apartment. Hasunuma held on to the railing all the way up the long flight of stairs, and-- though effort never, ever showed on Hasunuma's face-- there was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and neck.

Mitsuo pulled the jacket off of Hasunuma's shoulders once the door was closed, and Hasunuma toed off his shoes.

"Why don't you go lie down?" said Mitsuo, taking off his own shoes. He checked to make sure that the kanji on the doorframe weren't smeared or chipped, that the ropes of paper cranes hung on either side of the doorway weren't torn; then he pulled off his sweatbands, unbuckled his girdle and choker, and set them all on a painted wooden tray near the door.

When he came into the living room, Hasunuma was standing behind the desk, flipping through some papers. Mitsuo walked up behind him and said, "Let's go lie down."

Hasunuma turned and held the papers out to Mitsuo. "Before work I went through that chapter in your Statistics book," he said. "I made an outline."

Mitsuo took the sheaf of papers from him and looked through it-- all the vocabulary and equations were printed neatly, followed by definitions, brief explanations, and examples. Some of the items were written in red ink; there was a note at the front identifying those items as most likely to be on an exam.

Mitsuo's eyebrows lifted. He looked back up at Hasunuma. "Let's go lie down."

Hasunuma nodded tiredly but grabbed the Statistics book off of the desk and carried it with him into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed and opened it, leaning back against the pillows, squinting at the text. Hasunuma often read himself to sleep. He was voracious in his learning, and their apartment held more books than furniture; often the books served as both.

Most of what Hasunuma studied was occult-- calligraphy and sacred kanji, feng shui and sacred geometry, prayers and sacred syllables-- but through some of their ghostly encounters in the last few years, he'd acquired an appetite for military history and politics, and of course he had rudimentary acquaintances with physics, biology, electrical engineering, meteorology, mathematics and cooking. Hasunuma was brilliant with no ambition-- or else Mitsuo was the only nexus of his ambition. Listless, with shelves upon shelves of information.

Mitsuo touched a finger to the textbook. When Hasunuma looked up, eyes blurry, Mitsuo said, "You should go to school-- you're too smart to waste in a ramen shop."

Hasunuma smiled and caught the finger. He brought Mitsuo's hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. "I wasn't aware that I was wasting."

Mitsuo turned his hand to cup Hasunuma's clammy face. "Well, _I_ make good use of you, that's true." Hasunuma kissed his palm. "But you could be doing so much more than waiting tables. You should cut down on hours, and I'll get a part-time job, and we can both take classes."

Hasunuma breathed quietly into Mitsuo's hand for several moments before saying, "You don't need to get a part-time job."

Mitsuo pulled his hand away. "I never need to do anything."

Hasunuma watched Mitsuo stand up with what would have normally been perfect shrewdness but, in his current state, was simple wariness and exhaustion.

"I'm going to go make tea," Mitsuo said. "Don't do anything strenuous."

*

By the time Mitsuo came back into the bedroom, carrying a steaming cup, Hasunuma was slumped awkwardly against the headboard, breathing shallowly, asleep.

Mitsuo set the tea on the bedside table. He picked the open textbook up off of the bedspread and set it on the floor. "Hasunuma." He slipped a careful hand beneath the other man's shoulder. "Hasunuma..."

Hasunuma came awake with a start, and Mitsuo brushed the hair off of his warm forehead. "Shhh, it's okay. Sit up." Hasunuma dutifully pushed himself off of the headboard, blinking muzzily.

Mitsuo held the cup of tea in front of him. "Can you drink this?"

Hasunuma nodded and took the cup with a steady hand. While Hasunuma drank the tea, Mitsuo unbuttoned his shirt-- carefully navigating the teacup, pulling the shirt off of Hasunuma and tossing it into the clothes hamper. He unbuttoned Hasunuma's work slacks and then patted his hips.

"Lift up."

Hasunuma set down his tea on the bedside table and lifted his hips, so that Mitsuo could slide the slacks down his legs and off of his feet. Hasunuma shivered, and Mitsuo smiled and spread the blanket over top of him.

"Isn't that better?" he asked.

"Mitsuo," Hasunuma whispered. He shrugged the blanket off of his shoulders and caught Mitsuo's wrist. He pressed Mitsuo's hand to his stomach, where his skin was burning hot.

"You have a fever," Mitsuo said.

Hasunuma nodded. "I'm sorry."

He reached out to undo the buttons on Mitsuo's shirt, but Mitsuo stilled his hands. "I got it," Mitsuo said, and he pulled off his own shirt. He pulled off his jeans and threw those both into the hamper as well. He touched Hasunuma's forehead and said quietly, "Don't be sorry."

Mitsuo leaned forward, slipping beneath the blanket, and Hasunuma hissed when his own feverish chest touched Mitsuo's. He kissed Mitsuo's shoulder.

"Here, lie down," Mitsuo murmured. He helped Hasunuma reposition on the pillows. Hasunuma winced at every scrape across his skin, whether from the fabric of the sheets beneath him or from the fabric of his briefs as Mitsuo pulled them carefully down his thighs. Muscles fluttered beneath Hasunuma's skin; the tips of his fingers shook.

*

In the morning, Mitsuo brought another cup of tea into the bedroom, only to find Hasunuma leaned against the dresser, blank-faced, wearing another pair of work slacks and pulling on an undershirt.

"What are you doing?" said Mitsuo, frowning. He set down the cup of tea.

Hasunuma shrugged. "Getting ready for work." He sat down on the bed with a pair of socks. His face was still drawn and pale.

Mitsuo moved to stand in front of Hasunuma and put his hands on his hips. "There's no reason for you to get ready for work, since there is no way you're going to work."

"I have to go to work, Mitsuo," Hasunuma said. "I feel fine."

"No, no way. Look, yesterday was yesterday, but there is no way I'm letting you leave the house in your condition. You need fluids and rest."

"If I don't go into work I'll lose my job." Hasunuma was wearing a slight frown, watching his own hands pull on his socks, but there was something in his voice-- an uncommonly neutral tone, carefully restrained, not saying, _And then what will you do?_ Neither did he mention the reason why he found himself sick with no sick days: last month, Mitsuo had been possessed while changing clothes in a department store. He'd been halfway to Yotsuya before Hasunuma realized that he wasn't coming home, and Hasunuma had missed five days of work, tracking down Mitsuo and then exorcising the spirit, then helping Mitsuo to recover. Hasunuma really was in danger of losing his job.

Mitsuo put a hand on his chest. "I don't care. You're sick, go back to bed."

Hasunuma's frown tightened with irritation; that was how tired he was. He didn't push back against Mitsuo's hand, but he didn't lie back and he didn't answer. He was waiting for Mitsuo to move so that he could go about his business.

Mitsuo sighed. He put a second hand against Hasunuma's chest and pressed gently. "I'll take care of it," he said. For a moment, there was resistance-- but then, rather than voice his skepticism, Hasunuma dropped his gaze and lowered himself back to the bed.

Mitsuo said, "Drink your tea."

*

Kaoru's phone number was stuck with a magnet to the refrigerator, along with several take-out menus, six numbers for local shrines, a photo of Hasunuma and Mitsuo at the Bon Odori festival last August, a sexually graphic stick-figure doodle Mitsuo had drawn on the back on an envelope, and, of course, throughout, Shinto emblems of protection.

Mitsuo's call got Kaoru out of bed, but he said he didn't mind to cover for Hasunuma. "You take good care of him," he said, with only barely perceptible discomfort.

Mitsuo laughed politely into the phone. "Yeah, I'm trying."

After that, he called Aiko's number, which he knew by heart, and told her he was interested in getting a part-time job as a tutor. She immediately hired him for Tuesdays and Thursdays at a fair hourly wage. At the end of the phonecall, Aiko said, "How's your boy? Still sick?"

"Yeah," Mitsuo sighed.

"You're taking good care of him, right?" she asked, smile audible in her voice.

Mitsuo hesitated. It was hard to answer honestly.

Mitsuo had always seen ghosts growing up, though for some reason it wasn't until high school that they'd begun to recognize him as a medium and follow him around. It had been impossible to understand in his childhood-- faded people screaming in the streets, footless children mounting the staircase-- but he ran sobbing to his mother again and again to ask, _Why is the woman so mad? Why does she pull at her hair?_, frightening his parents and sisters and teachers before he'd learned not to talk about it or think about it.

Mitsuo had retreated to a cave so long ago he couldn't even remember. He had been too hurt, too haunted, no friends, knowing he was too empathic to remain whole in the world-- and for some reason Hasunuma had retreated to that cave to be with Mitsuo, without ever saying anything about it. Mitsuo didn't know what Hasunuma had been like before they'd met. When they'd started hanging out in high school, it was only ever them-- and Ichi, who came along later, and Mikuni, who was a grown-up and a pervert and didn't count-- but had there been other friends, before Mitsuo? Other hobbies, other interests? Before he spent 45 minutes every night meticulously checking the wards around their apartment, what did he do with his evenings?

Whenever Mitsuo asked about Hasunuma's life, Hasunuma acted like there was nothing to tell-- a long void of nothing. Reading books, watching movies, kissing a few girls but nothing serious, kissing a few boys but nothing serious, and waiting. But waiting for what?

Mitsuo stared at the Bon Odori photo, at his own wide smile and Hasunuma's smaller one, at Hasunuma's arm wound around Mitsuo's chest from behind-- there were flames all around them in the background, from fire dancers welcoming the dead spirits into the living world-- and then at the protective kanji and the stick-figure sex.

He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "I'm trying."

*

Mitsuo came home with two bags of sushi take-out, just as the sun was going down. He set the bag in the foyer and then checked the charms on the doorframe, the paper cranes, the bells, then pulled off his ofuda. He slipped out of his shoes and then carried the take-out into the tiny kitchenette.

Hasunuma was there already, wearing his sweatpants and an old t-shirt, pouring a glass of water. He looked at the take-out bags in Mitsuo's hands and said, expressionlessly, "I made dinner."

"Oh," said Mitsuo. He saw a pan of pork and a pot of rice on the counter, both covered with cellophane. "Well, that's okay, we'll just stick this stuff in the fridge for tomorrow." He set the bags on the counter. "So I guess you're feeling better."

"I am. I called in to work today and they told me Kaoru had come in to cover my shift."

Mitsuo smiled. "I told you I'd take care of it." Hasunuma nodded but he didn't smile back. A moment passed in silence, then Mitsuo said, "Wow, that pork smells really good."

Hasunuma nodded and turned to unwrap it. "Let's have some." He pulled plates down out of the cabinet, and Mitsuo fished some dinnerware out of a drawer; Hasunuma dished out the meat and the rice, and then they carried it into the living room, kneeling down at the coffee table opposite each other.

They ate in silence.

When Mitsuo was finished, Hasunuma-- who had only eaten half of his serving-- stood and reached for his plate.

"I got it," Mitsuo said, standing up. Hasunuma turned and went into the kitchenette with his own plate, and Mitsuo followed behind him.

Hasunuma dumped the uneaten portion of his dinner into the trashcan and then put his plate and dinnerware into the sink. Mitsuo did the same and then leaned against the kitchen counter.

"So, listen," he said. "I got a part-time job as a tutor."

"Oh?" said Hasunuma. He turned on the tap in the sink and let the water run.

"Not in Statistics," Mitsuo laughed.

"That's good."

Mitsuo hesitated, then stepped up against Hasunuma. "Don't be mad," he said. He pressed a kiss to the back of Hasunuma's shoulder. "I just figured it's time I start helping with the finances."

"I'm not mad," Hasunuma said quietly. "If you want to tutor, then that's good."

Mitsuo put his hands on Hasunuma's waist and pushed the side of his face into Hasunuma's back. He hummed in his throat and then said carefully, "I went to the park today. For just a little while. I talked to a few of the ghosts, and I wrote some stuff down for you to look at later."

Hasunuma's back bent beneath Mitsuo's cheek. He said, "I will."

Mitsuo sighed. "I just don't want you to worry about me all the time, Hasunuma. Worry about yourself a little, if you need to worry. I want you to know that I can do these things by myself."

"Okay," Hasunuma said quietly. He turned off the tap and put the dishes into the hot water, making small short movements so that he wouldn't shake Mitsuo off.

"Mmm," said Mitsuo. His hands moved from Hasunuma's waist to his chest and down to pull up the hem of his t-shirt. He slid his hand across Hasunuma's stomach, then below the elastic of his sweatpants.

Hasunuma turned around in the circle of Mitsuo's arms. He leaned down and kissed Mitsuo on the cheek, then on the mouth. "I'm sorry."

With his free hand, Mitsuo reached past the curtain of Hasunuma's dark hair to his cheek. "Don't be sorry."

"I don't want you to be sorry," Hasunuma said. His gaze met Mitsuo's for an instant before slipping sideways. He tilted his face away from Mitsuo's palm.

Mitsuo sighed. He pulled his hand out of Hasunuma's pants. "I'm not."

Mitsuo reached past Hasunuma into the hot soapy water, then shook the water from his hand. "If it makes you feel any better, I think I caught your cold. I feel like shit." He grabbed the take-out bags from off the kitchen counter and walked into the hallway.

Hasunuma said, "I don't want you to feel like shit," but Mitsuo could barely hear it, even just from the next room.

He pulled on the ofuda mechanically, eyebrows pulled low. "Clearly."

*

As Mitsuo walked across an expanse of manicured turf in Nara Park, spirits voiced their complaints. A woman with burn marks across her face and scalp complained bitterly about her husband's new young bride; two little girls with long dark hair, holding hands, pled with Mitsuo to help them find a lost comb; a man in a ripped business suit waved a fistful of translucent papers at Mitsuo, shrieking furiously about the importance of their delivery to a client.

In high school, it had always been ghosts who'd died before they'd had a chance to profess themselves to unrequited lovers, who'd wanted to take hold of Mitsuo's body in order to make confessions or to steal a chaste kiss, or to taste at long last and for the last time the pleasures of the flesh. It had led to many embarrassing misunderstandings and a few savage beatings, though Hasunuma had put a stop to that.

Toward the end of high school, however, a change had come.

The relationship between Hasunuma and Mitsuo had finally shifted from that between shaman and medium to what it would become, hands slipping beneath school blazers, and then they had graduated and been unequivocally dismissed from their households. Hasunuma had gotten a job at a bookstore, they'd found an apartment, Mitsuo had begun to study for entrance to the junior college-- and slowly, all of those many ghosts whose hearts were broken from unfulfilled love or sexual secrets, who had haunted Mitsuo for years, went away to be replaced by ghosts whose hearts were broken from obligations, from anger or disappointment. Those ghosts swarmed around him in the park.

When Mitsuo came to a place where there weren't any other living people, a lawn surrounded by thick trees, he stopped and took off his shoes. He unbuttoned his shirt, wiped it off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. He unbuckled the choker around his neck and tossed it toward the treeline. He took off the wrist bands and threw them.

The ghosts went silent, one by one, curiosity written on their faded faces. As the third to last ofuda garment dropped to the ground-- an ankle band-- the spirits began to press forward. They swirled around to Mitsuo's side opposite the pile of fallen charms, pushing as close as they could, gauzy forms overlapping.

Mitsuo threw away the second ankle band, and then straightened to untie the girdle. He unwound the strings and then paused. Some of the spirits had fallen to the back of the throng-- shop owners who had forgotten to take care of something, Mitsuo figured, sons who missed their mothers-- while others pulled ahead. Old men, girls, housewives; faces twisted with confusion, fury, grief.

"I don't suppose we could do this in an orderly fashion," Mitsuo said, and then he threw the girdle.

The ghosts spilled forward as one translucent body; all individual complaints merged into one common _ahh!_ of release. Mitsuo's vision narrowed to their oncoming faces, and as the distance vanished in an instant, animal panic drove the breath from Mitsuo's lungs. His bare feet braced on the soft ground, and then there was the sensation of falling, of filling up.

*

Mitsuo woke up in a thatch of bushes behind the Kasuga Shrine. For a moment he was confused; he wasn't wearing shoes or a shirt, but then he remembered having taken them off himself. He was cold, and his body hurt.

It was mid afternoon.

The money he'd had in his pocket was spent, so he had to walk the four miles back to his apartment instead of taking the bus. Once he arrived there, feet sore and dirty, he noticed that his house-keys were also gone from his pocket. He and Hasunuma would have to change the locks again.

Mitsuo tried ringing the buzzer for the apartment on the front door console, but there was no answer, which meant that Hasunuma was at work or somewhere else or was gone forever. If he was at work, it meant that Mitsuo hadn't simply been gone during the night but rather two days, at least, unless Hasunuma had taken on more shifts for Kaoru.

Mitsuo sat down on the doorstoop, arms folded on his knees, and willed himself not to shiver. Around his shoulders and waist were ropes of paper cranes he'd taken off of tree branches outside the shrine.

Four hours later, Hasunuma came home. He was wearing his work uniform. He walked slowly up the path to the building with his hands in his pockets. He watched Mitsuo with subdued eyes, waiting to hear what Mitsuo wanted or didn't want, or what he would say.

"Hi," Mitsuo said eventually, head tilted back against the wall. "Sorry."

"I thought you'd left for good," said Hasunuma.

"No. I just had to do something. Everything's fine now."

Hasunuma's face was paler than it had been when Mitsuo had last seen him, though he wasn't sure how long that had been; it was tired and worn-looking, and his shoulders were slumped.

"Aiko called for you two nights ago. I told her you were possessed and couldn't come to the phone, and then she said to tell you that you've only got one week left to teach her everything, and she said to call you a faggot."

"Shit, the test," said Mitsuo. He pushed himself up off of the stoop to sag against the building. Hasunuma didn't make any move to help him or steady him. "I forgot about the test."

"You still have four days, it's fine." Hasunuma pulled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He looked sideways at Mitsuo and let the door swing open. "Go on in."

Mitsuo walked into the lobby of the apartment building, frowning. He stopped on the front step of the stairs and turned around. Hasunuma was standing in the doorway.

"Did you think I wouldn't be able to come in?" Mitsuo asked, mouth bent uhappily. "I lost my housekeys and 1200 yen, but I'm fine, Hasunuma." It was amazing to Mitsuo sometimes how strange Hasunuma really was, with his thin face and pretty eyes, brilliant mind, no friends: the young gay shaman. He had latched on so tightly to Mitsuo when they'd first met because Mitsuo gave Hasunuma something finite to protect, some prescriptive course of action against his own inveterate certainty that everything would collapse. "I'm not dead," he said.

"No, yeah," said Hasunuma. "I am."

Mitsuo held still for a long moment. Then he stepped slowly down off of the stairs and back to the doorway. When he looked down he could see softness around the edges of Hasunuma's shoes and the hem of his slacks. After 49 days, his feet and legs up to mid-calf would disappear completely.

Mitsuo shook his head and began to scrape with his fingernail at a small painting of a deer on the doorframe.

"What are you doing?" asked Hasunuma. Mitsuo glanced up, and Hasunuma's expression had become more alert, frowning.

"I'm breaking the charms so that you can come in."

Hasunuma reached out to grab Mitsuo's wrist, but his hand collided with the invisible obstacle of his own powerful gofu. "You mean you're breaking the charms so that every ghost in the neighborhood can come in."

"That is what I mean."

Mitsuo scratched a jagged line diagonally across the deer, making his nails and fingertips red with flecks of paint. He moved to the other side of the doorframe to scratch through the other charm.

"Mitsuo-- if you do this, I'll just go away. I'm not going to come in."

"Okay," said Mitsuo. He mangled the second deer.

There were handscroll paintings on each wall of the lobby, and Mitsuo ripped each one down its center; he pulled down the gohei streamers from the corners of the room and overturned a potted plant near the window. On the far wall at the foot of the stairs, facing the door, a round mirror was fixed to the wall-- around its frame were painted the names of sacred kami. Standing on the first stair, Mitsuo unhooked it from the wall.

"Don't," Hasunuma said, voice low.

Mitsuo turned and threw the mirror. It spun across the distance, passing through Hasunuma's form and the forms of the phantoms behind him, and shattered on the stones of the front path. Ghosts rushed into the lobby. Desperate petitions filled the room.

Mitsuo said, "I'm gonna go upstairs and take down the other charms."

"Who's going to put them back up, Mitsuo?" Hasunuma yelled. His angry panicked voice almost blended with the other ghostly cries. "What do you think you're going to do?"

"I think I'm going to study for my test." Mitsuo turned and headed back up the stairs toward their apartment. "Come in if you want." Then Mitsuo paused again and turned, and the ghosts following him paused, brought up short by the crane streamers he wore. "Wait, no," he said. "You have the keys. You have to come in."

Spirits were still intermittently floating into the lobby, through Hasunuma, who stood in the doorway, opaque, frowning at Mitsuo; it looked as though the spirits were coming out of him.

Finally, Hasunuma stepped through the doorway himself. He put his hands back into his pockets and walked slowly up to where Mitsuo was, through the hollow throng, and then past him to the next flight and down the hallway. Mitsuo and the dead followed.

As he unlocked the apartment door, Hasunuma said, "Don't destroy all the charms. Move what you can to the bathroom. Put the dragon pictures on the door."

"Okay."

"Put the handscroll on the far wall and then just stack all the statues and inuguruma and rods on the counter."

"Okay." Mitsuo opened the door and looked over his shoulder. "I'll be right back."

Hasunuma gestured behind him at the spirits coming up the staircase and filling the narrow hallway-- the bleak tableau: orphans, villains and victims pressing into each other, wailing, discontent or murdered, everyone in need indefinitely.

"I'll be here."


End file.
